Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Lazy Farmer. Being a poem by my grandfather a few year before he died.

The Lazy Farmer

This weather with its ice and snow

and temperatures that drop too low

may suit the kids just perfectly

but I can't stand this kind of cold

if when its zero, I expose

my nose and ears, they're quickly froze.

No longer can my old legs lift

me through a frigid waist-deep drift

and even if they could, I'd wheeze

so much my ancient lungs would freeze.

My sense of balance has grown dull

a hog in ice is more graceful

than me, I either break my crown

or crash-land right where I sit down.

When winter blizzards blanket us

with snow it's much too dangerous

for me to venture out of doors

to help Amelia with the chores

and though I surely wish I could

I do not dare try chopping wood

for fear I'd hurt myself and she

a lone widow then would be.

It's foolishness of me to court

such danger, I can best support

the efforts of my loving spouse

by staying safely in the house

and keep logs roaring in the fire

so when Amelia starts to tire

she quickly can thaw out and then

get back to work outside again --

So please do not blame me

because it fits here perfectly.

February 4, 1962

Richard von Berthelsdorf

He was around 85 when this was written and my grandmother perhaps 73 She made it past the 100 year mark. Possibly because "woman's work" at Trail's End involved a great deal of hard labor.
The house continued to be heated by wood, there was no plumbing, and kerosene supplied the light at night for my grandmother well after he passed away. The house to this day is without plumbing or electricity.